


A Soul Found

by hawkins437



Category: S.T.A.L.K.E.R., Пикник на обочине - Братья Стругацкие | Roadside Picnic - Arkady & Boris Strugatsky
Genre: Extended Metaphors, F/M, Gen, Metaphysics, Original Character Death(s), POV Female Character, POV Original Character, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2357474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkins437/pseuds/hawkins437
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reputable harvester of artefacts ventures on her very last mission when she takes up the deal that could change her life. In pursuit of money that could turn her and her lover's fortune, she, however, finds a different sort of fulfilment. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soul Found

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [A Soul Found - Обретенная Душа](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297818) by [Altra_Realta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altra_Realta/pseuds/Altra_Realta)



This time the Barkeep got her a real deal—to find a rare artefact for a collector of good repute, residing back in Kiev. He was looking for the Soul, a rare artefact with famed healing powers. And she knew exactly where to find one. She was a stalker, a child of the Zone; she has roamed her dangerous grounds before she had reached her sixteenth year. The outside world was as alien to her as the Zone was to outsiders. Only the strongest and the cleverest survived here, only the most rich survived out there.

She loaded her Makarov pistol and cleared her Dragunov thoroughly, the sniper rifle being her closest friend in throughout her time in the Zone; it saved her life countless times and deserved all the care she could give it. Stuffing some tins, energy drinks and magazines, as well as some packets of ammunition, into her pack, she reminisced about what else would she need. Soul formed only in areas with strong and highly active Whirligig anomalies—that meant bolts, a lot of bolts…

When finally she had packed all she needed, she took a sip of vodka as an encouragement and set out into the merciless wilderness that was her home.

She ignored the artefacts that laid scattered about her way—Jellyfishes, Wrenched—all of them common, all of them worthless. She was looking for the Soul—the true rarity well-paid for by medical researchers. She spotted some Stone Flowers as well, as she walked along the huge garbage; she had heard that there was a new trend in Moscow: rich, powdered ladies wearing jewellery made from this artefact. She laughed at that; they can wear it all they like, if they wish to die of radiation-poisoning. Nevertheless she strayed from her path and snatched it away. These pretty things were in high demand whether for scientific purposes or the said jewellery.

The hem of her coat fluttered in the brisk rhythm of her stride, it was weather-worn and holey in a few places, but it has served her well in the past and kept the chill away. That was what mattered in the end. She seated herself on the ground for a while, taking the sniper rifle and backpack off her back. She opened the tin and grabbed some bread and started her little feast, washing the food down with some vodka. Then she realised where she was… She was near the Army Warehouses—Freedom territory. Her mind wandered off to Ivan, the man with whom she often shared her body, and she nervously ran her hand through her greasy hair.

It was not love—what she and Ivan shared—it was pure pleasure of flesh, intensified by mutual dislike of each other’s ideals: his over-activity and her complacence. They argued each time, only to increase the animalistic satisfaction of their coitus, not fearing to resort to violence even. In the end, they were both sore, both scarred, both covered in each other’s blood and both swimming on the waves of the lowest, yet most beautiful of instincts in the world. They were gentle to each other then, treating each other’s scratches and wounds, caressing each other’s bruises, whispering reverent, but hollowly-sounding words, tasting vodka from each other’s lips…

But today was different. The image of his lean, muscular body and raspy voice won’t tempt her. Nor his slick manhood, resting safely in between her thighs, his bitter taste of vodka and tobacco lingering in her mouth after their tongues danced in wild, writhing movements…

“Oh, Gods!” she sighs and tries to set these enticing thoughts aside. He won’t lead her astray this time. There were money to be had—10 000 roubles. Enough to get them both out of this place—even though she knew he would never follow her. Out there he was a criminal, an alcoholic, murderer, rapist—a dangerous man through and through. Here he was free, respected, rebellious, and as equally dangerous, but in an admirable sort of way. And he was hers. And she had nowhere to go.

But the money were still game—even in the Zone. It got you food, medicine, anti-rads, vodka, ammo, weapons, drugs… especially drugs. He was her drug and she bought him for money. There were other drugs too—in the Zone, you were doomed to die either way. And Ivan did so love the sound of her giggle.

She ventured on, past the warehouses, not paying attention to the Freedom rebels on the ramparts, they knew she was Ivan’s and no one wanted to have that psychotic bastard on their bad side.

She entered the Red Forest, the Haunted Forest as some stalkers liked to day. It was hunted, sort of. The Psy Dogs had their lairs here, twisting and confusing the minds of passer-bys by illusions.

She heard her dosimeter rumble when as she was finally approaching her goal—a whirligig swayed in front of her, and a soul artefact so close that she could just reach out her hand and grasp it. But she did not. Her vision brightened and her mind blurred a bit as the multiple illusive dogs neared her. She spun around and run for a short distance, pulling out her Makarov as she did so. She aimed at the illusive beast’s head and shot, she aimed at another and repeated the action; and another and another until her magazine was empty. Then she reached for her sniper rifle, caressing it with her touch. She hit the last of the illusions with the butt end and aimed for the true Psy Dog lurking behind the tree. She counted the distance and the course of wind, aiming precisely for dog’s right ear. One shot, one jerk of her finger upon the trigger and the beast lay dead.

She pulled out some bolts out of her pocket then, to find out just how close could she go to the anomaly not to be consumed by it. She let down her guard for one brief moment and it was enough… Another Psy Dog emerged from behind the tree, knocking her to the ground on the edge of the anomaly. Everything happened so fast then, but it felt like hours to her nonetheless; she had been sucked in by the Whirligig, and lifted off the ground. She hang there in the air, experiencing the liberating feeling that was close to flying, close to release she found in Ivan’s arms; but it would not last.

Her bones turned ever so brittle and the anomaly spun her around with its crushing force. She endured the excruciating pain, never uttering a single syllable nor a moan even. Pain and pressure and outcry of her dosimeter and the howling of the Psy Dog below, all that blended into one great chaotic symphony of death. And on the peak of this glory the skull burst apart, covering the dog, the grass, the trees, the hills, the very air with fragments of her mind. The pain ceased and all that remained was endlessness. She embraced it with relief. All that remained was that and gory mush of crushed bones and flesh upon the artefact she was to obtain. It seemed so perfectly peaceful and uncursed. The devil’s touch nothing but invisible. Only the dog below feasted upon the flesh that was her no more.

But to her it was nothing, because her, and the Zone were the one. The dogs her children and the dead body only an alien upsetting the balance and peace of her domain, and the alien upset no more. All of them little humans were blind, all of them meaningless… She understood Ivan now, the passion in his voice when he spoke about the Zone as ‘Her’, his mother. But even Ivan did not matter anymore. The Zone was the Soul and Universe. The Zone was eternity. She was the gentle mother whispering soft words to her children, and some of these aliens that claimed to understand, only to be tortured by insanity.

“Olga,” The endless consciousness whispered with millions of different voices as the bodiless stalker embraced the darkness and walked eerily amidst the red-needled, dead trees. “Welcome to me.” It was the Zone that spoke to her and the aliens that became one.

She walked through the soft grass she no longer felt. Deprived of body, deprived of form she felt as naked as she has never felt before. But she heard it. She heard the whisper of wet grass, each blade having its own voice, each droplet of dew singing a different song. Each dead needle’s rasping, trying to catch breath; all of them alive and all of them dead. All of them eternal…

She caressed the Psy Dog’s soft fur; and the bare skin as well. Each hair whispered to her in its own voice, telling her of its pleas, of fleas that feasted upon it. She heard it all. And she smiled her faceless, bodiless smile and embraced her child as it looked at her with its twisted mutant dog eyes. And they became one.


End file.
